


Perfection

by Pride_of_Six



Category: The Following
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 05:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12381858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pride_of_Six/pseuds/Pride_of_Six
Summary: “Are you this flirty with all of your customers?”Paul is soaring far above any of his worries because he might not be a master of social situations, but he’s 99.9% sure that Jacob is flirting with him now in the scenario. And it might be dangerously unfamiliar territory, but it’s still a step in the right direction for Paul’s purposes. “N-no,” Paul replied with an internal apocalypse in the making as he scrambled for something suave to say, “Just, uh, just with the ones who appreciate my… package.”It occurred to him that he’d been gawking at Jacob for pretty much their whole conversation without a moment’s reprieve, so he did his best to avert his gaze and look at something else.





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing is VERY IMPORTANT.
> 
> I had a bizarre memory trigger last week of The Following completely out of the blue, and after watching Season One as an older, wiser person, my heart was veritably stomped on when (SPOILER) Paul died. It brought me dangerously close to shedding a single man-tear. And don't even get me started on Jacob's fate.
> 
> It's because of all of the sadness with respect to their story-line (one of the rare canonically gay pairings I like) that I had to write a relatively happy AU to get it out of my system.
> 
> For a bit of context with this story: Paul is a serial killer masquerading as a post-man in his spare time, and Jacob is just another customer that turns his world upside down out of the blue when Paul meets him and doesn't immediately want to kill him.

Paul Torres had met a lot of people in his many years of living. It was all a part of his gig as a delivery man.

He procured a package, he delivered said package, and then he (frustratingly) had to engage in some degree of pleasantries with his clients before it was professionally acceptable for him to vamoose. It happened like that day in, day out; perhaps thirty times a day, six days a week. And every person he interacted with in his business was just another notch on his list of faces that made his blood run cold and his nerves scream.

Because Paul had never met a single person in his entire life whose light he didn’t want to snuff. He knew that made him a monster, and he also knew that every time he murdered somebody it was just a Band-Aid on a larger, deeper problem that would never go away. But what he knew didn’t seem to matter when faced with the reality of getting to witness the life drain from another human being. To watch them take their last breath was more special to Paul than love or sex; to watch their blood ooze from open wounds was more valuable than money or fame; and to watch their eyes wild with panic before finally, finally embracing the sweet and inevitable release from the pain was more beautiful than anything Paul’s mind could possibly bring to the forefront.

That was all true until Paul met Jacob.

It happened on an unsuspecting Wednesday (because it seemed that all things happened when you least expected them to) when Paul was delivering perhaps the most benign thing he could possibly imagine: a book called… The Following. Like seriously, who even read real books anymore? Didn’t everybody just download digital copies of those kind of things now? Paul could feel his preternatural urges developing already for the faceless man—Jacob—that he was inevitably going to have to interact with when he arrived. Perhaps if the timing seemed right he might just beat the stranger to death with his own book and then be on his way. It was perhaps a bit reckless compared to his usual motive, but on this particular Wednesday the urge was feeling just a bit worse than usual.

Still, he didn’t want to have to move towns again unless it was truly necessary, so as he pulled up to the address of the ‘Jacob’ who had ordered the novel, he steeled his expression into something that hopefully didn’t scream: ‘I’m a serial killer!’ and he made his way up to the unassuming doorway to the quaint urban home.

“Delivery!” he called out with a slightly elevated voice, knocking his trademark seven times on the door. Not a second after he knocked the seventh time the door opened to reveal… a man.

And it really, really shouldn’t have caught Paul so off-guard to be greeted by a man considering he assumed as much when the parcel was labelled for a ‘Jacob’, but hot damn this was far, far from anything he could have predicted.

The most glaringly obvious sign that something was very wrong—or perhaps very right?—in the universe was the fact that the moment Paul laid his eyes upon this… this ‘Jacob’ in the flesh, the icy thrumming of his blood just stopped. He’d been getting himself worked up all morning into something of a frenzy, knowing that he’d have to take the edge off at some point in the next few days and already brainstorming potential victims (his bitch of a neighbour, Emma; Mike the nosy detective that he was pretty sure was close to nailing him with something tangible for once; or maybe another detective in that precinct like Debra? The options were endless)… but now, somehow, just by laying eyes upon this stranger, the edge was gone.

No, it wasn’t gone, that was a lie. It was still there, deep down and buried inside Paul would always be that untameable urge to butcher, but now there was another, more pressing urge that was nagging at him. Paul mightn’t have been a scientist in the field of biology, but he was pretty sure he could identify the urge based on what was going on in his pants at the moment.

“Fuck,” Paul uttered, intelligently, because at this point he was more than a little unsettled at his complete 180. 

It might not have been notable for a lot of people (hell, even Asexuals probably got more action than him at this point), but Paul hadn’t had anybody that gave him ‘inspiration’ (for lack of a better term) in what must have been several years. Occasionally he’d even try seducing one of his victims beforehand, but every time he got bored and uninterested far too quickly and would end up using his own hand just to get things over with.

“Excuse me?” Jacob asked, looking alarmed. 

Maybe Paul’s expression reverted back to its usual ‘I’m a serial killer’ glare and it was freaking him out. “Sorry,” he apologised, trying to work his face back into something that was hopefully a bit less intense. He held out the suddenly much more important book parcel out to him, “You, uh, ordered this?” His voice sounded too gruff to his own ears and he wanted to claw his own face off because of it. Suddenly a life time of avoiding conversation and being an outcast were catching up with him because the one person he’d met that he actually wanted to be able to connect with was looking at him like he was a standoffish prick. And maybe that’s exactly what Paul was, but it just seemed wrong that he couldn’t do something to sway Jacob’s opinion of him.

“Oh, cool,” Jacob acknowledged, and he reached out to grasp the other side of the package. They engaged in an unexpected and uncomfortably and inexplicably erotic (on Paul’s side of things) game of tug-of-war with the package before Paul finally relented and let him have his book. Paul stared, enraptured, at Jacob’s lips for so long he dissociated from the world. They startled Paul out of his trance when they started to move, “So, thanks,” he squinted at something on Paul’s shirt, probably his name badge but he was still transfixed by Jacob’s lips and completely unwilling to turn away, “Paul.” 

His name sounded better, somehow, when it was uttered by the other man. Paul wanted him to say it again and again in a dozen different stages of exertion. Paul, Paul, Paul. And perhaps Jacob would want him to respond in kind? Perhaps he’d love to hear what Jacob did to him. He could already see them on Paul’s bed, hips flush together, as Jacob begged for Paul to give him what he wanted. The thought made him feel heady and disoriented. “Fuck,” he said, for the second time in their short, but already disastrous, conversation.

This time, though, Jacob smiled. It took an embarrassing amount of Paul’s willpower to not just tackle and mount him then and there, but he persevered... barely. “Are you this flirty with all of your customers?”

For one, awestruck moment Paul is alarmed because Jacob can tell what he’s thinking and that’s undoubtedly a recipe for disaster given every other aspect of Paul’s life. For every moment beyond that first one, though, Paul is soaring far above any of his worries because he might not be a master of social situations, but he’s 99.9% sure that Jacob is flirting with him now in the scenario. And it might be dangerously unfamiliar territory, but it’s still a step in the right direction for Paul’s purposes. “N-no,” Paul replied with an internal apocalypse in the making as he scrambled for something suave to say, “Just, uh, just with the ones who appreciate my… package.”

Apparently he was a natural, or perhaps Jacob was easy, but he got the desired result when the other man bit his lip and let out a nervous little puff of air. Was this happening? The whole situation seemed almost alien to Paul at this point. It occurred to him that he’d been gawking at Jacob for pretty much their whole conversation without a moment’s reprieve, so he did his best to avert his gaze and look at something else. As tantalising as the man’s eyes were, he wasn’t going to scare him off by getting completely lost in them. He tried to remember how things like this worked in the movies he’d sometimes catch people watching. They were never really his preferred genre, but now he wished they were so he’d have some idea what people found romantic. Weren’t flowers romantic? Should Paul bring him back flowers to make his intentions clear? Or was that specifically for women? What the hell did people get males as romantic gifts, or were they just expected to suck it up and deal with the fact that they never got something? That seemed a bit archaic, but still there wasn’t anything popping into Paul’s mind so perhaps he’d just have to go with flowers and pray for the best.

“I—” Jacob started, and immediately Paul’s attention snapped back to him. He started and cut himself off several more times before apparently settling on what he was going to say: “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but… do you maybe wanna—”

“Yes!” Paul declared, and then internally seethed at himself because he’d just cut off Jacob from… from what? Asking him out? It certainly seemed to be that way but there was always a chance that Paul was just massively misreading the situation; it wouldn’t be the first time. “I mean, Jacob, do you want to—”

“Yes!” Jacob interrupted, and Paul was both surprised and pleased that he’d been interrupted by somebody and for the first time in his life he didn’t have a surge of anger at that. Instead it was a surge of… something different. Paul hadn’t smiled a real smile in God-knows-how-long, and his face kind of hurt as he smirked widely with his teeth for the first time in eons. The incongruence of the situation was making Paul’s head spin because nothing like this had ever happened to him. He’d never met anybody that made his chest feel tight, he’d never flirted with anybody in a way that made his pants feel tight, and he’d certainly never smiled at anybody that made his cheeks feel tight. Everything was just too much but also nowhere near enough all at once, and he loved it; craved it.

“Tonight at 7:00?” Paul suggested, because already he was formulating a plan to take Jacob home tonight and promptly keep him there forever. It would only take a few hours to prepare everything.

“Sure,” Jacob replied, nodding eagerly. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be eager to spend alone time with Paul—in-fact it was how he lured in a good deal of his victims—but never had he found somebody’s eagerness pleasant, let alone as overwhelmingly arousing as Jacob’s.

“I’ll pick you up,” he promised, feeling like there was no blood left in his head as he turned and made his way back to the van, floating the whole way. 

It only took a few minutes of driving for the dark urge to creep its way back underneath his skin, but for some reason the promise of just seeing Jacob again that night nullified it to barely an itch. And it was so minute that he wasn’t sure which urge it was that the itch was causing by: whether it was an itch of wanting to choke the life from somebody, or whether it was an itch of wanting to fuck the life out of Jacob.

Needless to say he had a conflicted erection on the rest of his route, and he mumbled to himself in a melodious lullaby: “Jacob, Jacob, Jacob.” 

 

It was an admirable 6:30 when Paul pulled up outside of Jacob’s house. The sun was just beginning to slip below the horizon, and it bathed the world in a haunting bastardisation of the bright gold and reds that it usually would. Whatever it was that Jacob might have been suspecting at this point was going to come from their electric meeting earlier that day, Paul was vibrating with excitement at the prospect of absolute surprising him with the reality.

Perhaps Jacob was hoping for a movie, or dinner at a fancy restaurant, or some kind of other cliché date. Perhaps Jacob had already been with a dozen partners and he thought Paul was going to be just another notch on a list of people the young man had slept with. Somehow the latter thought made Paul’s lips pull back and his teeth gnash, but he didn’t want to think about that.

Paul wanted to think about what the impending night might hold for the pair. It was past the point of denying that Jacob was something special for Paul. What that ‘special thing’ would end up being was anybody’s guess, but one thing that he knew for sure was that he wasn’t going to let it pass him by. Nothing and nobody got to slip through Paul’s fingers; that’s how he’d made it this far in life doing what he did.

Tonight Jacob and Paul would spend a lovely evening together at Paul’s small unit, and then they would sleep together. Then, depending on how things went, either Paul would cut Jacob open the next morning, or Paul would keep him there in perfect health so that he didn’t need to feed his urges any longer. Paul was, of course, routing for the latter as it was mutually beneficial and would mean a lot fewer messes had to be cleaned up (being a successful serial killer was hard work), but if all it took was one night to pump his system clean of whatever Jacob-induced chemical high he was feeling, then it wouldn’t work in the long run.

The evening was likely going to end up being arguably torturous if Paul’s sudden onset libido was any indication, but, even if this was a new feeling for him, he had an instinctive knowledge that the more painful the foreplay, the more pleasurable the… play.

It was creeping towards 6:50 when Paul decided the time had come when it was appropriately early enough to kick things off. He slipped out of his car, patted down his smart-casual grey button-up, dusted off his black pants, and marched up to the same door he’d assailed earlier that day.

“Delivery!” he called out and knocked the same seven times, grinning like the lunatic he was. After he’d done it he had to double-take for a moment because since when was Paul funny in any way? He’d always proved himself more of a straightforward and serious individual than one that was at all humorous.

The door opened to reveal Jacob wearing a red V-neck with a fashionable blue jumper and for some reason that right there was the hottest thing Paul had ever seen, naked people notwithstanding. It was strange because Paul had realistically stumbled upon more objectively attractive people before: men and women. But somehow, subjectively, from the moment he’d laid his eyes upon the bright smile and unruly dark hair of Jacob, he’d been hooked.

“I was wondering when you were gonna get tired of creeping out there,” Jacob teased, and the lightness of his voice was like a breath of fresh air to parody all the heaviness of Paul’s life. His words, however, were akin to the knives Paul loved to twist into people’s guts. He had just called him a creep, and that word hurt a lot more, for some reason, when Jacob said it. Paul wondered darkly what Jacob would have to say about some of his other idiosyncrasies.

“Just building up the antici…pation,” Paul retorted in kind, pushing past the sickly realisation that perhaps Paul had already begun to (dare he say it) care about what Jacob thought of him. People that did the things he did shouldn’t have such soft points to them. When Jacob grinned in response, it set something bizarre off inside of Paul’s ribcage, so he hastily forced words out of his throat before he could think too much of what was going on, “You look good.”

“You look amazing.”

Again, there was that bizarre feeling. Paul was conflicted enough because he hated it and wanted to carve it out of himself on principle alone… but then he also craved it and wanted Jacob to feed into it more and more until consumed him whole. As far as first dates went, Paul imagined this wasn’t how most people felt.

“It’s still…” he peaked down at his watch to see it read: ‘6:57’, “three minutes early, but if you’re ready then I don’t mind getting this show on the road.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a place to make up that three minutes later,” Jacob followed himself up with a sleuth, “and what was it that you had planned, hm?”

Paul was still stuck somewhere on the ‘three minutes’ comment and imagining what the hell Jacob was potentially hinting at, so he blurted out his go-to: “Fuck.”

Fortunately, Jacob started laughing like this was all just a casual Wednesday night, and two thoughts intruded on Paul before he could stop them: the first was that he was incredibly lucky to find an individual that was carefree and kind enough to tolerate his questionable tact; and the second was that perhaps this was just a casual Wednesday night for Jacob. It was entirely possible, in-fact, plausible, given his blithe demeanour, that Jacob slept with all kinds of men on Wednesday nights. Perhaps Wednesday night was Jacob’s casual sex night and Paul had just inadvertently fallen into his web of seduction and flirting like the fly he wasn’t. If it was true, then Paul couldn’t wait to bask in the surprise on Jacob’s face when he pulled the wool from over his eyes and showed him that it was, in reality, Paul that was pulling the strings here.

Somehow it didn’t comfort him too much in the daunting realisation that even if Jacob was something special for Paul, Paul probably wasn’t anything special for Jacob.

“What did I have planned?” Paul checked, because he’d lost himself again. He rubbed the back of his neck kind of awkwardly because, well, this was the first time Paul had ever done something like this, so he could only hope based on one afternoon of research that it was the right thing to do. “I was thinking we’d go back to mine, watch a movie or two, and then I’ll make us dinner and…” he trailed off because Jacob was looking at him like he was strange and Paul wanted to punch himself because how the hell did he know the various intricacies of how to get away with murder but he couldn’t plan one stupid date without freaking out the other party?

When Jacob apparently realised that Paul had stopped listing off the details of what he considered a reasonably romantic evening, the other man stepped up to the challenge and broke the silence, “Sorry, it’s just…” a beat passed between them and Paul kind of regrets ever doing this now, because before this morning he was numb to everything and now he just wants to do stupid things like smother Jacob… with affection, “I’ll level with you here. I’ve never actually, y’know, dated,” he said the word like it was taboo, “a man.”

Paul’s brain short-circuited.

“I know, that’s weird, isn’t it? But like what you just described sounds like the most intimate first date I can imagine so I’m totally—”

“Neither have I,” Paul blurts out to cut off his tirade and the two of them fall silent for a moment.

They’re still standing there, gawking at each other on Jacob’s doorstep. It should feel awkward, it should put Paul on edge and make him want to lash out at someone like awkward situations normally would. Instead, it feels pleasant. It feels like a massive weight has been lifted off of them now that they’ve actually taken two seconds to think about what they’re about to get into. It’s also a pleasant relief that all of Paul’s dark thoughts regarding Jacob’s potential promiscuity regarding the male gender were completely unfounded. In a weird kind of way it excites Paul even more knowing that Jacob isn’t going to expect things to go a certain way tonight based on past experiences. It makes everything about Paul’s plan easier to pull off.

“Well I guess now that we’ve gotten that out of the way we should get on with the rest of the date, hm?” Jacob suggests, and he’s closing the door behind himself and locking it. When he turns his back to Paul and exposes himself so beautifully it’s almost too tempting to just cage him against the door, peel off his deliciously fitting clothing, and forget about any pretence of a date.

Instead, Paul huffed out a breath to clear his head and started back down towards his car; Jacob close behind. The moment he’s behind the wheel with the other man in the passenger seat, looking across the console at him, Paul realised that whatever chance there was that this was going to be a one-time-thing have now been completely erased.

Jacob was his, now, and after tonight the unsuspecting man would understand that without a doubt. As he pulled onto the street, Paul was veritably vibrating with excitement as a hundred different possibilities for the things their future together could entail came to him all at once.

 

The evening so easily; so naturally for Paul that it was almost uncanny. He felt like he was almost a spectator to his own fate as he watched someone completely different to himself spending an evening with Jacob. There were foul thoughts clogging up Paul’s brain whenever he got a moment’s reprieve from the strange bliss that Jacob instigated. They were foul thoughts built around swiftly ending things with Jacob because he was too close; too grand a part of Paul’s world already after less than 24 hours.

But then Jacob would smile at him or make a flustered attempt at humour or playfully jab Paul in the ribs and then they were gone again, replaced with the far more pleasant thoughts of how good they were going to be together.

Paul had once again found himself entirely lost in Jacob’s eyes again, but now the other man was giving him an imploring look. It hit him that he’d been asked something but it had gone completely over his head because he was too busy being a sappy idiot. It occurred to Paul for not the first time that perhaps he should be weighing up options here before committing himself so blindly to a stranger. There was certainly something a little bit… too perfect about Jacob. Everything from his clothes to his smile to his eyes to his potential male-on-male virginity. It was all like this morning a higher power had plucked a fantasy from Paul’s mind and made it into a reality. What if Jacob was an undercover agent? What if the police were actually closing in on Paul faster than he thought?

That didn’t matter, though. Whether Jacob was just an idea forged in the head of some devious detective or he was a real person, he was going to be Paul’s, and together they were going to be absolutely beautiful.

“Fuck,” Paul mumbled dumbly because whatever question Jacob had asked him, he probably didn’t have the right answer anyway.

Apparently whatever gods may be had smiled down upon him, though, because fourth time was the charm, and this time Jacob’s sly grin proved that he agreed with the sentiment. “I’m totally down for that.”

Paul moved before he was completely aware of what he was doing, surging across the couch and mashing their mouths together. He knew he was beyond uncoordinated and had barely any idea what he was doing, but what he knew seemed less important than what was happening here and now.

He pulled back after a few moments of awkward gnashing kisses, hoping to gauge by Jacob’s face whether what he was doing was in any way correct. He knew his fast must have been stony as he took in Jacob’s flushed face and bright eyes, but his generally off-putting and unforgiving demeanour somehow didn’t compute for Jacob as he closed the distance between them again and chased Paul’s lips with his own.

Then it was too much, and it was all Paul could do not to explode as things he may never have felt before surged through him. He shoved Jacob hard into the firm couch and blanketed his body with his own, winding their legs together and pushing harder and harder until Jacob made a gentle mewl of a sound and started to push back.

Now that there was friction, Paul started to frenzy. He had Jacob now, underneath him. He had him trapped, wedged between the couch and his body where he belonged, but there was still so much separating them. Clothes that just had no place being there.

“Off,” Paul gasped, pawing at Jacob’s shirt. It would probably be in poor taste for him to just unceremoniously tear it off of him, but god it was tempting. And he knew realistically that he’d probably have to remove himself from atop Jacob if he wanted to slip his pants off, but the thought hurt.

“Shit, Paul, let me breathe for a sec—”

“Off!” Paul roared, tugging up harshly on Jacob’s shirt and managing to get it off after a decent struggle. Then he slipped down Jacob’s body and hugged his hips as he loosened his pants before peeling them quickly off of him. It was like wrestling an unfairly attractive statue with how rigid Jacob’s joints were, but fortunately it was a wrestling match that had a highly incentivising prize to win.

When Jacob was finally, finally in just his deliciously tight briefs, Paul wrapped his hands around the exposed skin of the man’s hips and pressed his fingers harshly into the flesh. His hands had always had a characteristic strength to them which made strangling the life from people particularly easy, but now he was using them to brand his mark onto Jacob’s skin. If there was ever a chance of Jacob escaping from him, Paul was going to make sure that he’d always wear a few memories in honour of tonight. That way he’d never truly be free, even if he did run.

“Jesus, Paul!” Jacob gasped out and thwacked his hands ineffectually at where Paul’s were still digging hard into his hips. When he caught Jacob’s eyes and recognised the moment of uncertainty and panic beginning to flare up, Paul retreated his hands and instead smoothed them down his sides to distract from where there were now ten finger-tip bruises painted over his hips. He looked even more beautiful with his marks on him.

Paul hushed the other man’s confused groaning by mashing their mouths together again, “Don’t worry,” he puffed out against the other man’s lips, “I’ll take care of you.” Jacob’s hands started to wander over his clothed chest desperate and wanton, and Paul felt a surge of arousal at the notion that he wasn’t the only one enamoured by the other. All evidence pointed towards the fact that Jacob was just as mindlessly affected by Paul as Paul was by him. He tore off his shirt in one swift movement, uncaring as a few of the buttons tore off and the fabric protested. It was worth it to bask in Jacob’s moment of surprised arousal at suddenly seeing him bare-chested. His heart swelled, along with other parts of him, because Jacob was actually enjoying this! He was getting off on Paul’s hotness and Paul was getting off on Jacob’s hotness and suddenly they appeared to have such an amazing foundation for a potential relationship.

It took a few more minutes of manhandling and wrestling between them before Jacob had finally lost his briefs and Paul managed to relieve himself of the burden of wearing clothing, but it was immeasurably worth it when Paul got to take in every centimetre of Jacob’s skin, laid bare for him like a canvas for him to paint with blood and pain and pleasure. This was going to be their first time together, so Paul knew he had to make it a memorable one, but it wouldn’t do for it to be so intense that Jacob became afraid to repeat it. Paul could make it amazing for both of them, he was sure, and he was going to do just that.

Even if he didn’t have much experience to call upon and his afternoon of research seemed wildly insufficient preparation for somebody as precious as Jacob, Paul was still a human after all. He had a biological imperative and enough general knowledge to know that if he stuck his dick inside of Jacob and swished it around a bit then eventually their bodies would make whatever adjustments they could to ensure that things weren’t completely agonising for them.

“On your stomach,” Paul declared, already nudging Jacob’s hips urgently for him to turn over because he was practically leaking cum out at this point. It seemed like a waste if he just blew things early without even getting to feel what it was like for them to be of one body.

Jacob started to turn, obediently, much to Paul’s delight, but he stopped midway to level Paul with a look of anticipation, “I mean, obviously this is a first time for me in this scenario,” the reminder just made Paul’s urge to ‘do him’ for lack of better terminology, all the more urgent. It might be new for the both of them right now, but Paul was confident that it could become a relatively familiar occurrence between them soon enough, “but don’t there need to be fingers and lube and a bed and a condom and—”

Paul scoffed at that, cutting him off, because, honestly, there was zero chance Paul had anything sexually viral. And if even if Jacob told him right then that sex with him would result in certain death for the both of them, Paul would have still pounded his brains out because he was a risk taker like that. He urged Jacob to turn the rest of the way onto his stomach and then smothered himself over the other man’s back so that every sensation would be shared between them. “I told you I’d take care of you,” Paul promised, “I’ll even carry you to bed afterwards.”

Jacob huffed a laugh and Paul grinned toothily against the skin on the back of his shoulder as he bit down on it. It hit Paul not for the first time that night that a normal person probably didn’t seduce, date, and sleep with the man that delivered a book to them on the same day, but what did it matter at this point of Jacob wasn’t a normal person? Paul certainly wasn’t, and they wouldn’t be a match made in heaven if Jacob was just some boring civilian anyway.

He shifted his hips so that his heavy cock was riding the crease of Jacob ass, thrusting uselessly in a way that it would never quite slip inside where it belonged. It intended to get some practice with his hip movements before the main event, but it served instead to drive himself absolutely insane (as if he wasn’t already).

After a period of just uncertain rutting on Paul’s part, Jacob shifted slightly, probably a bit uncertain himself at this point, and Paul inexplicably snarled at him. His side-objective to get through the copulation without setting off any red flags in Jacob’s mind was probably failed, but his main one to get the copulation done with in the first place was still a very real and very rapidly approaching success.

He sat up on his haunches and used both hands to spread the sweaty cheeks apart to expose his target. In his mind he imagined Jacob’s asshole to be… bigger; perhaps more realistically able to accommodate the girth of his dick. The reality was a tight, innocent little pucker that would probably tear if he went for it right now with something as big as his dick. He’d cut and smoothed the nails on his right hand especially for this exact moment, so without further ado he spat liberally on the man’s hole, took his right pointer finger and teased the tip of it inside with the slick of his spit to aid it.

When Jacob had no discernible reaction to the tip of his finger he took it as a challenge and jammed the rest of his finger in with one swift motion.

“Ah!” at that, Jacob made a sound that was one part surprise and one part pain; no parts pleasure. Paul could literally feel as the other man’s body seized up for a moment to try and stop the intrusion. He didn’t remove his finger, but he did lean down to plant a sloppy kiss to the centre of Jacob’s back, savouring the taste of his sweat.

“I’m sorry,” Paul said, but it hung in the air that they both knew he wasn’t. It was intoxicating, like already Jacob was relinquishing so much of his power to him. He kissed a pattern on the man’s back to distract him from any discomfort before experimentally wriggling his finger again. It was still clearly uncomfortable, but Jacob was quietly, stoically, working through it for him. He was perfect, “You’re perfect,” he announced, pulling his finger out, spitting, and then immediately worked it back inside, “So perfect. All for me.”

However uncomfortable it was for Jacob, Paul was also suffering in his own right as he spent several agonising minutes methodically stretching Jacob’s tight little hole. Things came to a head when Paul retracted his fingers one final time and the tantalising thing clenched around the air and winked at him. Honest-to-god winked!

“Fuck,” Paul groaned, dropping his forehead down to Jacob’s back and taking a few steadying breaths. It seemed that profanity made up an alarming percentage of the words that Paul used around Jacob; an irony considering how little Paul swore in the many years prior.

“God, yes,” Jacob moaned like he was systematically trying to annihilate Paul’s higher brain function. If he was, then Paul couldn’t care less, “Just fuck me already.”

Paul was usually a rather selfish man, he could admit that, but in this situation it seemed a little altruism was in order.

He lined himself up without another moment’s hesitation, nudged the obscenely dripping head of his cock against his mark and pushed it in with a pivot of his hips.

The moment the bulbous head passed through the first, tight ring of muscle, it’s like a revelation and Paul starts to shake with a soul-deep ache for completion. It’s a completion that he’s chased his whole life and only achieved for a few brief moments whenever he gets to watch a body go cold and stiff. Now, it seems like Jacob can give him that completion for hours, days, weeks, months? What if being with Jacob made it so that the urge never crept up on him again? Could Paul do that: make himself stop after so many years of routine and consistency? Frankly there’s no question because suddenly it’s as though his choice will always irrevocably gravitate towards that which means he gets to remain with Jacob.

“So perfect,” he reiterated as he pushed through the remainder of any space between them until their hips were flush and Paul was as deep as he could possibly be inside of Jacob, “For me. Perfect for me.”

He meant it to be an almost-question; a kind of: ‘is this perfect for you as well?’ but something was lost in translation between his brain and his tongue because it comes out as more of a threat, a warning. Because if Jacob isn’t going to let himself be perfect for Paul, then Paul’s sure as hell not going to let him be perfect for anybody else.

The thrill of allowing himself to be so open, so exposed and so raw for Jacob manifests in a humming thrill of excitement beneath his skin. A humming that his body is screaming at him can only be satisfied if he starts to move, starts to thrust and fuck into the willing and perfect body beneath him. Paul Torres is a lot of things: a sadist, a murderer, and some might argue a psychopath… but he wasn’t a masochist. So when his body started to brim with unspent energy that was just begging to be unleashed in a wild, animalistic display of lust, Paul let it out.

He hiked his legs up so he had a good position from which to piston his hips back and forth, and then he gave just four rapid thrusts in the space of a second. He gave a moment for the both of them to just breathe and acknowledge the majesty of the sensation; Jacob was perpetually moaning like he needed it, and Paul was grunting with the sheer force of trying to give it to him. They were truly made to satisfy one another.

The moment came and went and with it went Paul’s caution as he began to repetitively jerk his hips back before slamming his pelvis hard into the meat of Jacob’s ass. The sharp sound of their skin and their pain and their pleasure was intoxicating. The harsh rhythm of his desire for the other man pounded in his ears and left him little more than a passenger in his own body: holding on for dear life as something primal let itself loose to take and take and take. It felt remarkable, superseding any other kind of high Paul had ever experienced in his life. The sensation of Jacob’s slim hips squirming beneath him with each thrust was like dousing the fire within him with gasoline. Realistically he knew that Jacob was just humping the couch or maybe trying to chase a particular angle that their hips met at, but instead the action triggered the predatory instinct that Paul was all too familiar with. It made his blood burn all the hotter because whenever Jacob wriggled against his thrusts or shifted up the couch Paul’s mind seared with the idea that Jacob was trying to run; trying to escape, as ridiculous as that may have been. It made his thrusts harder, his hands tighten their grip on his hips, and it made his mouth bite down hard on Jacob’s collarbone.

The latter did the job because now Jacob couldn’t move without Paul shaking him around with his teeth.

With the other man immobile Paul changed his grip on his hips so that he was pulling Jacob back into every deep thrust of his hips. Soon it became too much and he purposefully held their pelvises together as he just ground his cock shallowly into Jacob’s beautiful body. Three dozen shallow, grinding swivels of his hips later and he finally stilled, in awe at the intensity of his own orgasm, before a haze took him over and his world was reduced to nothing except for the all-consuming serenity of the pulsing of his dick as it unloaded his semen into the man beneath him.

He wanted to pull out and look at the mess he’d undoubtedly made of the other man; he wanted to watch as proof of their compatibility oozed out of his hole and dripped down his thighs; he wanted to spin Jacob around, kiss him and thank him profusely for getting that stupid book delivered so they could meet. He wanted a lot of things in that moment, but in a slip of clarity he realised that Jacob needed something as well in that moment.

“You were so good,” Paul admired, licking mutely at the now bleeding bite that he’d taken out of Jacob’s shoulder. His right hand remained fastened to Jacob’s hip, holding them together for as long as it took until Paul’s dick became too sensitive, but he snaked his left hand around and into the tiny space between Jacob’s body and the couch where his dick remained tragically overlooked and achingly hard. “So good for me,” he reiterated as he teased his fingers up Jacob’s throbbing shaft and sent him over the edge, cumming all over the couch beneath him. The spasms of his body milked Paul of whatever else he had left in him and he pulled out (albeit reluctantly) with a beautiful wet squelch.

“Holy fuck, Paul,” Jacob gasped, still laying on his stomach; a mess of his own release in front and a mess of Paul’s behind. He sounded wrecked, and it was the singular most beautiful voice he had ever heard. He wanted to exert Jacob harshly and repeatedly until he was consistently and thoroughly ruined so that he would forever be as beautiful as he was in that moment.

Paul stood from the couch, boneless for a moment before he managed to stop his head from spinning with endorphins. It was truly a sight to behold: Jacob on his stomach, completely vulnerable and used. He was tempted to take a picture and immortalise the occasion, but reasoned with himself that it would never be necessary because Jacob would never ever be leaving him.

Still, he had a promise to uphold, so he nudged at Jacob’s side until he rolled onto his back with a grunt of discomfort. Then, with a strength not unlike that of mothers lifting cars off of newborn babies, he scooped Jacob up in his arms, crossed the threshold to his bedroom—his safe space—and gently deposited him in the centre of the bed. They both had their fair share of fluids on them as a result of their first time together, but for Paul realised with a thrill of actualisation that he couldn’t care less.

“That was nothing like I imagined,” Jacob admitted, rolling to lay on his side, probably to avoid putting any pressure on the thoroughly-worked muscles in his backside.

Paul climbed into bed after him and rearranged himself so that they could face one another on the bed. “It was better,” he hazarded, hoping that Jacob felt the same but also knowing that he himself had been so out of it through most of the ordeal that he didn’t really know if Jacob had enjoyed it as much as his body indicated. All signs, including the very chaotic mess of Jacob’s own release on his stomach that was now in full view, pointed towards the reality that they both had their share of the fun, though.

“So much better,” Jacob agreed, voice cracking and enhancing the whole wrecked quality of it. “It was perfect.”

Paul grinned like a loon in the dark of the night then, because he could see even in Jacob’s exhausted expression that the other man could see it too. They both knew that what they had created that night was perfect. They both knew that this was the start of something new and exciting for both of them. They both knew that neither of them would be able to back out at this point; the deed was done, so to speak, and now Jacob had acquiesced himself to a life of being Paul’s and Paul a life of being Jacob’s. And that was the epitome of perfection in Paul’s eyes.

“Perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Side note: Apparently I struggle to write stories nowadays without an explicit degree of 'unsafe' sex in them.
> 
> Any criticism is welcome and, even though I'm a few years late, I want to give props to everyone in this fandom because, as I mentioned earlier, this pairing is important.


End file.
